


Skinned Knees

by tropicalgothic



Category: Naruto
Genre: Bebes being friends and childhood drama, Gen, I don't think I ever write something that doesn't have an ounce of angst in it, No major death but there is a death, Other things are mostly cute, some sadness and some good things, the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalgothic/pseuds/tropicalgothic
Summary: Sasori would walk into this story a lonely six year old boy, carrying academy books on his back. He would walk out with more bruises and scraped knees than he expected, a carrying case filled with newly sharpened kunai, and two people by his side. A lot can happen within the span of a year.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12
Collections: Sasori Mini Bang





	1. June

**Author's Note:**

> It seems only yesterday I used to believe  
> there was nothing under my skin but light.  
> If you cut me I could shine.  
> But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,  
> I skin my knees. I bleed.
> 
> \- On Turning Ten by Billy Collins
> 
> As always, special shout out to shipcat who is pretty much my editor at this point ;A; ;A; <3 <3 The title also came from her. Thank you!

“Thank you.”

Sasori squinted at the three pieces of gulab jamun [1] that were offered to him. He was all of six years old and knew that only teachers and parents gave out sweets. And _only_ if you had done a good job at something.

The blonde haired boy standing in front of him was neither teacher nor parent. And Sasori had not done anything special recently.

“What’s it for?” Sasori asked.

The boy— a classmate, about his age, not particularly good with any of the weapons the teacher laid out, not someone Sasori made a point of remembering— looked at his feet the way people did when they got caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing. Sasori wondered if the dessert was any good.

“You got me my pencil back. And I got you into trouble.”

“Oh,” Sasori remembered. Mostly how their other classmates sounded like loud braying animals when they laughed. He had been all the way inside the classroom, and the ruckus was outside— but it made his stomach churn like he ate something bad just the same. Sasori must have thought of something between the moment he heard the other kids tease and swipe at the boy’s pencil… and the moment his fist collided with someone’s nose.

He was saddled with the after-school chores that day. Not that Chiyo-baasama actually noticed.

Sasori finally took one of the little balls of milk-based goodness and bit into it. “Is this a bribe?”

The other boy’s eyes flew wide— “N-no, no it’s not. It’s—“

“Is this your way of asking for protection, then?” Sasori finished the first gulab jamun and reached for another one, “I accept the job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Gulab jamun is an Indian based sweet in the form of little fried balls of milk-solid goodness and soaked in so much syrup your hands would be dripping with the flavors of cardamom, rose water, and saffron. The perfect peace offering and or bribe for school children.


	2. July

Sasori still didn’t know what the other boy’s name was.

The rule was that you weren’t allowed to ask for other people’s names. That was rude and made people feel unimportant even if they were. Chiyo-baasama told him as much. The trick was, according to her, to listen until their name was mentioned.

But the boy was never called by their classmates when they were allowed to pick teams. The teachers never called on him for recitation. He even tried listening in during the attendance— but they went through A, and B, and C, and maybe even reached M, and before Sasori knew it, the teacher was done and asking students to open their books.

But Sasori had a master-plan. He always did.

“Hey,” he called out to the blonde haired boy as they were all headed home. “We’re friends now. You should invite me to your place. Friends do that.”

More importantly, the people in his house _have_ to call him by name.

The boy was silent about Sasori’s self-invitation. So naturally, it meant yes.

“Why don’t we go to your place instead?” the boy asked.

Sasori furrowed his eyebrows. _Because, no one knows your name in my place._ “Chiyo-baasama doesn’t like having guests over,” he lied. “The last time we had guests over, she took out all her puppets and imprisoned them.” That was probably a bit too much. Only the Kazekage was allowed to throw people into the dungeon. “Under the Kazekage’s orders,” Sasori made sure to add.

“Our house is small,” the other boy said it so softly, Sasori almost missed it.

“So? I’m small,” he countered. “I’m free to come over on August 3rd. We have to finish the partner project for weaponry class, remember?”

It’s a few more steps before the other boy finally nodded.


	3. August

Sasori could count the number of streets he frequents with only one hand. And if he thought real hard, he could fit all the streets he remembered in _two_ hands.

The other boy has ducked into too many streets that Sasori lost count. All of those streets were foreign to him; unconquered territories for a young shinobi-to-be to explore. The third street after the first (or second) time they turned left was the one that sold rainbows upon rainbows of clothes, and bags, and bangles. The right turn after that— Sasori smelled the goats and camels before he saw them. He and the other boy laughed and ran to the next street where they almost bumped into an old man, setting up his station to carve little toys and figurines.

But for all the tempting adventures on the street, Sasori asked his friend to stop only once— at the scent of something… lemony? Lime? But also sweet— Sasori sniffed the air and let his nose lead the way— and a sharp spice…

“Peanuts?”[1] Sasori pressed his face against the glass covering the food cart. That was definitely where the scent was coming from. But Sasori eyed the peanuts in the wok suspiciously, despite the mouth watering zest that came from it. The only peanuts he knew were the ones Chiyo-baasama boiled during the colder evenings, and they never used oil. “That’s not how you cook peanuts,” Sasori pointed out.

“Good morning, Auntie!” the other boy said, finally catching up to Sasori. He supposed he wandered around without telling his friend. But it was for a good reason. “Can we get two bags?”

“Sure, Yashamaru! This your new friend?” the lady nodded at Sasori who was currently too preoccupied with naming the ingredients on the pink plastic chopping board to listen to the conversation happening beside him. He could make out the vivid red of the chilis. Something white that’s already chopped up, green leaves that curled up like--

“Wait, what?”

The other boy—— the other boy whose name he didn’t know; the name he’s spent the better part of two months searching for— looked at him, puzzled, like he doesn’t know the extent Sasori has gone through to not be the impolite kid who went around asking ‘hey what’s your name?’. 

“I didn’t say anything,” the other boy whose name— Hapsha? Sasha? Sasha-haru?

Sasori pursed his lips and stomped the other way “Never mind.” 

“Here you go,” the lady gave _Something-maru_ two paper bags of fried peanuts. “Oh and—“ she got another half scoop and added a few more to one bag. “Give some to your sister.”

“Thank you, Auntie!”

“You tell her to come visit us when your Mama doesn’t need her, okay? We miss her in the kitchen.”

“I will,” he got the two bags and followed Sasori, who was going the wrong direction. “This is one of my favorites,” the boy said, handing over one of the bags. “I think the Kaffir lime is the best flavor there, even if I like chilis better.”

Sasori nodded his head, picked up a piece of peanut and—— oh, oh it’s good. He took a handful, this time, while the other boy laughed.

It was only when they reached the destination that Sasori noticed the untouched bag on the other boy’s hand, and how it looked much smaller than the one he was given.

The boy stopped in front of a house, picked up a small rock, and tossed it to the wind chimes that hung outside the second floor window. A head of blonde hair peeked out of it, and squealed “Baby brother!” It disappeared in a rush.

Now, Sasori has had trouble with blonde boy’s name (Sashabaru?), but the door opened to another rather similar looking problem.

“Hi,” the blonde girl who opened the door said, oblivious to the fact that she’s the splitting image of her brother. Down to the height, and the shade of their hair, and their skinny stature. Except for the dress— only one of them wore a dress. Noted. “What’s your name?” She asked.

Sasori looked at the boy, and then at the girl, and then back to the boy— his brows knit and his nose wrinkled. “Why do you two look the same!”

The boy opened his mouth to answer, when a woman with a worn out sari peeked out of the door. “Children, come inside. You’re letting all the dust in.” The woman looked towards them and for all the plainness of her clothes, the eyes that met Sasori’s was a sharp emerald. “Oh, nice to see you again, Sasori. Come join us inside, we have snacks ready.”

The brother and sister ducked into the house while Sasori bristled at how _unfair_ it all was. He lost the opportunity to ask for their names first and— and—

Sasori pulled the other boy’s arm when he got to the top of the stairs and whispered low, “How come she knows my name?”

But now low enough.

“We’ve met before,” the woman answered, her back turned to them and her red hair spilling from the messy bun she’s tied up. “You came to my daughter’s birthday party last year, remember?”

Sasori looked down at his feet. Something like that might have happened— he might have wandered off too far from home; he might have heard the celebrations. And it was just a few days after his birthday! Which wasn’t fun because Mom and Dad still haven’t… returned. He didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to stand beside the cake meant for someone else and blow the candles too.

But more importantly.

_Why is no one saying anyone’s name?_

“Your sister?” Sasori looked to the boy for clarification, and hopefully a name.

The boy nodded, smiled, but said nothing.

Sasori could feel his cheeks turn pink with frustration, and sheer _fury_ —

“You can always ask you know,” and the boy hasn’t stopped smiling. His lips pressed together, holding back a laugh. And Sasori understood.

He gave the other boy a light shove, even if they were still very close to the stairs. “Just say it already!”

“You have to ask it!”

“No! You knew! You knew I didn't know and--”

The boy laughed and laughed some more before leading Sasori to the small table four steps from the top of the stairs. “I’m Yashamaru,” he said finally, “Ya-sha-ma-ru.”

Sasori took a seat while the woman laid out sweets on the table. “That’s a very long name,” Sasori said. Yashamaru’s sister laughed at him and he turned to her this time. “Is your name as long?”

She shook her head. “No. One syllable less— it’s Karura! It sounds like the bird--” [2]

“Where?!” Sasori ducked down and clung to his seat, quickly looking all over the house for a bird. He did not like birds. Not at all. His eyes darted from the stove by the window to the small kitchen counter; from the mattress on the floor to the stack of papers and scrolls where Yashamaru (he remembered!) put his and Sasori’s bag down.

The house was much much much smaller than the one he and Chiyo-baasama shared. But it was also a bit bigger than his own room! And that made him _right _, he was sure to remind Yashamaru— he was small enough to fit.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The idea for the peanuts came from Cambodian street food that we had when we were there. Now, much of the food mentioned here are distinctly Middle eastern, or South Asian-- so why with the random Southeast Asian foods. The idea in my head of Kaze no Kuni as a whole has several different types of cuisines including the spicier and zesty foods of Thailand and Cambodia. Sunagakure is the melting pot trade center that has a little bit of every culture in Kaze no Kuni-- but in a semi diluted form.
> 
> [2] So there are several ways to write Karura's name in Japanese. The manga (I'm just getting this info from the wiki) is about as consistent in writing her name as the anime is consistent with her appearance. Which isn't much :' ) One of the ways to spell Karura which I think wasn't used in the manga is 迦楼羅, as a Japanese way of writing Garuda. Garuda is a legendary bird or bird-like being from several different mythologies-- Hindu and Buddhism among them.
> 
> The bit where Sasori ducked came from a headcanon by shipcat where Sasori is afraid of birds. Thought it could be a humorous addition.


	4. September

Sasori preferred going to Yashamaru’s house. He thought it was cozier, and it always smelled like warm spices. He could always watch Auntie Kamala (this time he just asked, even if it was rude!) working in the kitchen, or Karura by the stairs singing a lullaby to the neighbor’s baby. It was like a blanket of noise, and hustle, and bustle, and movement and people.

Chiyo-baasama’s house felt cold by comparison, even if it was carefully constructed to stay at just the right temperature. The ceiling of the main lobby was so high, it could probably reach the sky. There were stairs upon stairs— some went to places Sasori frequented; others went to places he was never allowed in; and some just never went anywhere. The place was so big, there was even a pool in one of the rooms!

The house was so big, everything echoed— even the silence. You couldn’t smell dinner when you moved from one room to the other. Not that it ever mattered where Sasori chose to have his dinner. Chiyo-baasama was a very important person in Suna, and important people were always out and about.

Sasori specifically brought Yasha over when he knew Chiyo-baasama was gone. So they could run through all the stairs together and make all the noise they wanted! They could eat wherever they wanted. He’d show Yashamaru the puppet that’s kept him company recently (It was a fish, named Fishy, and it could float on the pool. He’d show him that too.)

But when Sasori slammed the door open, he found that the house was not as empty as he wanted it to be.

“Sasori-chan,” Chiyo-baasama shuffled, the way old people that weren’t Chiyo-baasama shuffled, into the foyer to greet them. “You brought a friend?”

“Mhm,” Sasori nodded, proud to have learned his friend’s name by now. “This is Yashamaru.”

“Salam, Chiyo-baasama,” Yashamaru asked for Chiyo’s hand to press against his forehead[1]. There was a certain level of respect that the members of the old families of Suna demanded. Even Yashamaru, whose family preferred to greet each other with one kiss on the cheek, knew of these expectations.

What he didn’t know, though, was what to do when Chiyo stepped away but didn’t take back her hand. He lifted his gaze up and _yelped_ at the disembodied arm he was holding on to— falling back one, two steps and bumping into Sasori who only rolled his eyes. 

Chiyo cackled until she almost fell over as well. “Don’t look so frightened!” She said between laughs, “I’ve had that old thing since the end of the first war. Made it myself.”

Yashamaru, white and trembling like a piece of parchment, held unto the puppet arm quite unsure of what to do. Sasori took the arm from him and handed it back to Chiyo.

“Don’t scare my friend away,” he huffed, trying to muster as much of an authority as he could. “We’re going to play.”

“Well, you know the restricted areas,” Chiyo ruffled Sasori’s hair, “What do you want for dinner?”

Sasori thought for a moment. He had been planning on just rummaging through the kitchen for something edible— the way he usually did whenever Chiyo wasn’t around. Which was often enough that he knew the cycle of easily heated food items and snacks that came into the kitchen.

But if Chiyo-baasama is offering… “Mansaf! And kofta. And fried halloumi. And baklava. What do you want, Yasha?” [2]

“You’re going to finish all that?” Chiyo laughed.

“Yeah. Cuz Yasha won’t eat it,” Sasori offered, knowing that the last time Yasha was served meat, he ate it only to be polite and ended up curled on the floor with an aching belly. But… oh, what was the word for that— “If it had a mother, he wouldn’t eat it,” Sasori tried to explain, “But he likes samosas, and matar paneer, and mushroom laarb. And—"

“And eggs,” Yashamaru added, “eggs are okay.”

“I’m sure I can whip something up,” Chiyo-baasama reassured them. “Now you two go play.”

x.X.x

“You ready?”

“Are you sure this is allowed, Sasori?”

“Positive. Do you have your helmet on?”

“You never gave me a helmet…”

“Okay— Hang on to the sides.”

“But you said to keep my hands inside the ride at—“

“Here we go!” Sasori leaned forward, causing the weight of the board to tip towards the stairs. Yashamaru's eyes shifted to the steep staircase below them that went down for two stories. He closed his eyes, shifted forward, held Sasori by the waist—- and that was all the board needed to speed down down down downdowndown until they hit the floor and started spinning towards the closed front door where they were thrown off the board. Scattered on the floor between giggles and fluttering hearts. Even the bag Yashamaru carried flew to the other side of the foyer.

“Let’s do that again!” Sasori suggested, still laughing. It has been perhaps a full year since he’s picked up that board once more. The tracks that ran deep on Chiyo’s stairs and floor were made by a heavier weight— several years ago. That heavier weight made noises and sound effects and even the crash at the end. _Again, Dad! Again!_

Going down the stairs like that alone was lonely by himself. Not even the echo of his own laugh felt like company. This was… much better. Even if it didn’t come with the sound effects.

“That’s our sixth time!” Yashamaru was breathless as he tried to roll towards the direction of his friend.

“Does that mean you want to stop?”

Yashamaru has successfully crawled closer towards Sasori, a smile stretching from ear to ear when he said “Nope!” Both of them burst out laughing again.

With chakra strings, they dragged the board back up the stairs. Sasori had taught Yashamaru how to do that and said it was better than carrying it up. His friend had been worried about damaging the intricately carved waves on the side of the board. The curve of a tsunami at the forefront. The little fishes that swam on the edges and on the board itself where they sat. Yasha had pestered him about what the sea was like— how blue was blue, how the sand was different from the ones here, how the ocean smelled, what was it like having a pet hermit crab. 

The sun had already set, and they only noticed when the grandfather clock chimed seven. Yashamaru had rushed to the source of the bell to peer into the gears.

“Ebizo-jiisama made it with my dad,” Sasori explained, now distracted from the stairs-slide. “This floor is the study floor. So the clock is here 'cuz… studying is hard. And you had to know what time dinner is.”

“Should we go down for dinner then?”

Sasori shrugged. He wasn’t hungry. If Yashamaru were, he’d have a look on his face and silently nudge Sasori— ask too many questions related to food and all. “We don’t have a dinner time anymore. We can eat whenever!”

Yasha nodded his head. “Where do they study here, then?”

“In the library. It’s big!” They weren’t allowed to play in the library--- that’s what Chiyo told him. But they wouldn’t be playing, they’d just be looking. “Here, I’ll show you.” Sasori opened the door— tried to, but it was locked. He made a face. “Do you have a card? The one you use as a bookmark.”

Yashamaru opened his bag and pulled out a notebook from it. In between the pages filled with all sorts of drawings and notes was a little card. A bookmark for him and a key for Sasori. It twisted between the crack of the door until—

“Done.” He swung the door open and Yashamaru rushed in to— “It’s huuuuge.” He turned around to see the room from all angles, and then craned his neck until he couldn’t crane it anymore. Still, the top seemed impossible to see.

“Told you.”

The grand book tour went from Sasori’s personal study desk— which was bare since he didn't spend much time here. He would often take books downstairs to the basement where all the carving equipment were instead of reading them in the library. It was only the books on Chiyo’s own section that he wasn’t allowed to bring anywhere outside the library. Sasori showed Yasha the pen with a little scorpion carved on it, the ladder that got him to the shelves he wanted, the books on wood carving and puppetry, and even the books on different kinds of art that he read only because they were beautiful.

“This one is how to draw with pastels,” Sasori said, handing Yasha another book with a mother and child drawn on the front cover. “I like the ones with the oil pastels best, even if they make my hands dirty.”

Yasha nodded his head, flipped the page, and then his eyes caught a glimpse of— “What’s this?” he asked, grabbing a book from the next shelf. It was an anatomy book, with sketches of muscles and bones in colored pencils on the front.

“Don’t touch that!” Sasori slapped the book out of his hand. “That’s from Chiyo-baasama’s shelf! And she’ll know if you touched it and I’ll get into—“

“Get into what, Sasori-chan?”

Both Yasha and Sasori spun around to see Chiyo standing behind them in an apron. Sasori hid the anatomy book behind his back; Yasha took a bow so low he might have tipped over. “I’m sorry Chiyo-baasama,” Yashamaru said, never lifting his gaze from the floor. “I took it without permission. It’s my fault.”

“Which one is it, Sasori-chan?” Chiyo-baasama extended her hand and Sasori had no choice but to reveal the old anatomy book. He was already steeling himself for a slipper, or a belt, or whatever Chiyo might find a sharp enough punishment. Instead, a soft smile found its way to her face.

“Oh, I remember this,” she said, making her way to a nearby chair. She gestured for them to follow her— and Sasori had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. “A good friend of mine drew this, and I helped write the text. This is a first edition, before they had the printers done. Are you interested in anatomy, Yashamaru?”

“Yes,” he nodded his head. “I would like to be a medic some day. If I study hard…”

Then, Chiyo-baasama looked at Yashamaru in a way that made Sasori’s heart fall to his stomach. “Would you like to borrow it?”

Yasha’s face lit up like festival lights. Between promises to study hard until he got into medical training and Chiyo pulling down _two_ more books, Sasori's stomach churned like he caught a bad bug. And it didn’t matter that Chiyo had served kofta with the samosas, or had peeled blood oranges for them.

Sasori wasn’t hungry for food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] What I had in mind here was more of a Filipino custom "pagmamano". It's an honoring gesture when a young person greets an older individual (like Grandma old. You do this to your Auntie and they will be offended). What we usually say is "Mano, po" translated to "Hand, please" after the Spanish word for hand. But I tried to look for something more in line with the cluster of cultures I have for this little desert community that is Sunagakure-- just to make it flow better.
> 
> [2] The cuisines that Sasori mentions for his preferred food vs Yasha's are different. It's just sort of my shorthand for referring to some cultural differences within Sunagakure (which is not a monolith in my head).


	5. October

That had been the last time Sasori let Yashamaru set foot into his home. Often, sparse conversations found themselves between stretches of silence, and quiet— _Are you mad at me’s_.

But for all the friction between them, Sasori walked Yashamaru home and stayed with the siblings until the sun set. He even helped with some of the chores so that Karura could come play with them. After all, the heat of Yashamaru’s questions felt better than the cold echo of loneliness in his own home.

Sasori had not been brave enough to confront Yashamaru about it— though he had pushed his friend once, twice, several times when he shouldn’t have. Just to get Yasha angry enough to retaliate. So Sasori could get angry too— about something real. And they’d get mad at each other. But they’d apologize, cuz it was silly. Sasori could apologize for that.

But he couldn’t say that he was housing a green-eyed monster that kept reminding him of a warmth that should have been for _him_.

That was _too silly_ to apologize for.

Sasori had not been brave enough to confront Chiyo-baasama either. For a full year, he had not been brave enough to do that. Even the revelation that dashed his hopes on the ground came through sneaking into Chiyo’s study in the middle of the night. And Sasori learned to cry quietly— until tears made no more sound.

He might be feeling brave today.

“Sasori-chan,” Chiyo-baasama washed the dishes he left on the sink. It was the first time he saw her this evening— likely, swamped in the hospital. “Why don’t you bring your new friend here anymore?”

Sasori opened the refrigerator and pretended not to hear her above the clatter of the bottles he moved around.

“I have a few other books he might enjoy. If he wants to train as a medic, I have a book on poisons and——“

The clatter of glass breaking.

“Oh, Sasori,” Chiyo turned off the faucet, left the dishes, and moved to where Sasori stood in front of a broken jar of pickled lemons. “You should be more careful with that— stay out of here first. You’re going to get cut.”

“Where’s the book? I can bring it to him.”

“Just on the foyer table.”

Sasori left the kitchen, grabbed the book, and disappeared into the streets of Sunagakure where the dark of the evening would mask the tears streaming down his face.

Turns out, he wasn’t so brave after all.

x.X.x

Yashamaru would open the door. Sasori would shove the stupid book in his face. And he’d tell Yasha he never wanted to see or hear from him ever again. That’s how Sasori imagined it would go.

But it wasn’t Yashamaru who answered the door. Not even Karura. It was their mother who stood in front of him, long red hair spilling from her messy bun and wearing a faded blue sari. Sasori looked down and quickly wiped away the tears from his face, hoping Auntie Kamala didn’t see it.

“Good evening, Auntie Kamala. Is Yashamaru home?” Sasori lowered his head, waiting for this to be over so he could go back to his room and his own privacy.

“You have a bit of dirt on your face,” Kamala did not answer the question and instead, took out a soft cotton handkerchief. Suddenly, there was a hand on Sasori’s cheek and the tears flowed even harder.

x.X.x

 _Yashamaru invited me to a sleepover._ Sasori had lied to get… he’s not sure what he wanted to get. He didn’t even want to stay, at first. But he wanted to dig in where he shouldn’t be. He can apologize for silly things, if Yasha got mad too.

But Yasha didn’t. He just nodded his head, confirmed the lie, and apologized to his mother for not informing her. Even invited Sasori to come over to where he and Karura were on the mattress reading.

“Chiyo-baasama gave me a book,” Sasori lied again. “This one’s better and fatter.” Though Yasha’s book had more pictures than his did… It’s his now. _His book_ had infinitely more words and Sasori tried to show how much better he is at reading these things.

Karura sat beside him and Yashamaru shuffled close, moving a few inches at a time and making sure that he was allowed this. But sometimes, children were children and in the face of play, their memories were short. It didn’t take long for the three of them to start flipping through the book, highlighting interesting lines the way the older kids did. Or funny words like— toxicology, pharmacokinetics, poison, the therapeutic dose and the toxic dose.

“The dose makes the poison,” Sasori read out loud, highlighting the phrase because it sounded like something Chiyo would say. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of his grandmother. “That’s stupid," he said with more bite than intended. "Poison makes the poison.”

“I think it means,” Yasha offered, “that too much of a good thing is bad?”

“You can never have too much of a good thing!” Sasori countered. “Like lemon cakes. You can’t have too much lemon cakes.”

“I did once!” This time, it was Karura who spoke. “Not lemon cakes— but cakes. I ate too much and my stomach hurt.”

Sasori wasn’t convinced. “But that’s not poison.”

“All things are poison, and nothing is without poison; the dosage alone makes it so a thing is not a poison.” All three heads looked up to see Kamala on a chair beside the dining table, wrapped in a shawl and sewing one of Karura’s old dresses. Her eyes locked on the hem she was patching up. “There are many plants that people eat accidentally, and they wind up in a hospital. But from these same plants can be extracted and distilled medicines that can help a heart beat stronger. That’s what it means.” 

Kamala looked up and her gaze met Sasori’s.

“Even ‘bad’ things can be turned into something ‘good’.”

x.X.x

Sasori tossed and turned in his sleep, situated between Karura and Yashamaru. He had insisted on the spot— simply because the small second floor house was colder than his room and Sasori preferred an evenly distributed warmth. No other reason.

But the warmth did not help him sleep. The baby crying on the floor below them kept him tossing and turning. In truth, the problem came from somewhere deeper. Somewhere in his gut, that churned like a green bile-monster and made him sick.

Sasori opened his eyes. Yashamaru was fast asleep beside him. For a moment the urge welled inside him once more. He wanted to tell Yasha that he hated him. That he still thought of that one moment in the library with a book that he wasn’t even allowed to take out of the room. Sasori could tell his sleeping friend that he hated Chiyo-baasama for it too. That in the last year, there were days when he couldn’t sleep but was too afraid to knock on her door. The words at the tip of his tongue.

_I know, Chiyo-baasama._

Instead, Sasori roughly turned the other way.

“Are you still awake?”

Sasori froze. Then put the blanket over him, so Auntie Kamala wouldn’t see him wide awake.

“I’m making chai,” Kamala continued, despite his perfectly covered face. He could hear her moving in the kitchen. “I’ll make enough for two, and…” a beat, “whoever is awake can join me.”

The plan was to lay still and wait until Kamala fell asleep as well. But it has been hours since the three of them went to bed, and Kamala was still working on sewing those clothes with a thick blue shawl over her shoulders. 

The scent of warm spices was too hard to resist. Sasori crawled out of the bed and made his way to the table, eyeing the clothes set into two piles. “Why are you still awake?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t ask him the same.

“I’m working,” Kamala poured the chai into two mugs, and placed one in front of Sasori. He wrapped his hands around the warmth and sighed at the heat making its way to his fingers. “Yasha came back with a rip on the elbow on one of his shirts— tried to patch it up with tape.”

Sasori shook his head. “I told him the stapler would have worked better.”

Kamala laughed, the needle threading in and out of the cloth. “Good to know you two are getting along again.”

Sasori averted his eyes. He said nothing. Auntie Kamala went back to sewing the shirt in her hands, and Sasori went back to sipping his chai. The silence stretched uncomfortable and stiff before him. Auntie Kamala asked a few questions here and there about him— that she noticed he had a fondness for tart sweets; that he read voraciously when he wasn’t playing; that he liked making things and putting them together. He dodged those questions about as gracefully as a camel dancing to an old opera.

Once he finished his chai, and it sat warm in his belly, Sasori decided it was time to try and sleep again. “Thank you, Auntie Kamala. The chai was delicious, but it’s getting cold and—“

“Oh, you should have told me if it was getting cold—“ Kamala stood up and took the shawl off her shoulders. “Here,” then wrapped the blue warmth around him. “This should help.”

And it did. It was warm in his belly, and warm on his shoulders. But there was still an ache— where exactly, Sasori could not tell. But it was dull, like he was coming down with something if he didn’t—

“It’s still cold,” he lied again. The words were at the tip of his tongue. Like he was at the precipice of something, and the thought of a quiet _no_ made him feel nauseous. “But this is better,” he pulled back. Better he be the one to end the interaction than be told—

“Well, come here, I’ll keep you warm.”

And there was a moment, a split second between hearing those words and being lifted up unto Auntie Kamala’s lap that he just stared, unbelieving. Like this was all a dream. And he couldn’t remember his last embrace…

That was, yet again, another lie. He did remember. He replayed that memory over and over again, thinking if he just shouted loud enough, then, his parents wouldn’t step out of the doorway. But they always did.

But there was no shouting here. 

There was only the warm blue wrapped around him; warm chai in his belly. Auntie Kamala’s fingers brushing through his hair. A faint heart beat against his head, and arms around him. And a lullaby from a language he could not understand rocked him to sleep, like the gentle tides lapping at the edge of a sea. And Sasori closed his eyes, imagining someone else’s voice and someone else’s arms.

Closed his eyes and fell asleep.

x.X.x

Sasori woke up in his own bed in the house he shared with Chiyo-baasama and wondered if he dreamt up the whole thing. _Just a dream._ He wrapped his arms around him as the smallest comfort he could give himself— but then found that something warm was already on his shoulders. He rose up from the bed and the blue shawl fell on the pillows.

“Sasori-chan, you’re awake,” Chiyo-baasama was sitting by his study desk, a small breakfast waiting for him.

“I have to get to school—“

“I already called them,” she gestured for Sasori to come over, “Yashamaru’s mom brought you over and said you slept late last night. So I spoke to your teacher and she said you can take the day off today.” Sasori sat on his stool and started picking at his breakfast. “Honestly, Sasori, if you wanted to go sleepover with your friend, I would have let you. If you had let me know, it would have saved us some time trying to find you last night.”

“Sorry, Chiyo-baasama,” Sasori whispered, wanting to shrink and shrink until he was so small that he’d disappear. He thought they could just have breakfast with the quiet, like they used to.

“Oh, and—,” he averted his eyes because it didn’t feel like it would be a quiet breakfast at all. “Yashamaru’s mom told me you were interested in this book.” Chiyo said, tapping at a fat and familiar book on medicine and poisons. “She said you might enjoy it more than Yashamaru would and gave it back.”

Something welled inside Sasori and his vision blurred. He nodded his head, and something fell on his cheeks. “Could you—“ he sniffled, and wiped his eyes, “could you read me some and teach me?”

“Of course, Sasori-chan.”

x.X.x

When the dismissal bell rang, Yashamaru trotted towards the academy gates with his head down. Sasori wasn’t there in the morning when he and Karura woke up. Mama explained that she brought him back to his grandmother, and that Chiyo-baasama must have been worried sick by his absence.

_You should have told me the truth, child. I would have understood._

He was going to head home and help Karura with her chores. She didn’t go to school like him, but they always did homework together. It was fun, and she was better at math than him even if he was better at science. They probably shouldn’t expect Sasori if he didn’t go to school and is rest——

Yashamaru looked to see Sasori waiting for him by the gates and then made his way over. “Hey, you got to sleep better at home? Maybe next time we can bring blankets—“

“‘m sorry,” Sasori mumbled beneath his breath, his foot nudging the sand beneath them as if the sand just needed to be kicked away to reveal the words he didn’t know how to say. “I was being mean. And I— and I—“ 

The feeling was welling up again all the way to his throat when Yashamaru pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay! But we’re friends again, right?”

Sasori thought of pulling away, of reminding Yasha that they were still in school and softness was an undesirable trait in Suna shinobi. But he figured there was no one around— so Sasori could nod his head and say “Yeah. Friends.” And he could take Yasha’s hand and they’d walk home together.

_Friends._


	6. November

Sasori labored to keep himself distracted this November. He avoided the calendar at school, and Yasha’s prying questions on what they’d do for his birthday. Whatever they’d do— it wouldn’t be anything close to what he wanted to do, and who he wanted to be with.

But Sasori thought that Yasha and Karura and even Auntie Kamala weren’t so bad. They were fun, actually.

It wouldn’t be so bad.

He just needed to distract himself with something. That’s what Chiyo-baasama taught him, after all. That if he felt something (some sadness, some loneliness was what Auntie Kamala called it), he could always turn to his puppets and reliably bury the feelings beneath shavings and discarded chunks of wood. More recently, he’s buried it between pages upon pages of the poison book that Chiyo would read to him and teach him on evenings she was home early from the hospital. He would bury it too beneath another special day.

It was Karura’s birthday on the 11th and Sasori was working on his gift. 

He only really knew Karura on afternoons once she’s done helping Auntie Kamala in the health center. He knew she liked to cook but he was better at eating than he was at cooking. He knew she pocketed every pretty thing she found lying on its own— a flower that would turn brown in a few hours, a shiny stone, a coin older than they were. He thought of making her a dress with lots of pockets so she wouldn’t have to hold it in her hands while they made their way home. But he gave up on that idea once he realized how difficult it was to put a thread through the eye of a needle.

In the end, he settled with a jewelry box— somewhere to store all the trinkets she brought home. It had to be big enough that she could put in _a lot_. But small enough that it wouldn’t be too bulky in their home.

And most importantly, the design had to be intricate enough to occupy Sasori’s head during the first two weeks of November. Until the date has long passed, and the ache in his belly subsided.

x.X.x

“Happy Birthday!”

Yasha sat in front of him with a mischievous grin that spanned from ear to ear. There was a rolled piece of paper between them— crumpled on the edges and stained with coffee to make it look old. Sasori unrolled the ‘old’ piece of paper. It was a map of Sunagakure, drawn and labeled with a trail leading from one site to the next.

“It’s a treasure map,” Yashamaru insisted. “And you have to get to here—” He pointed to this big red X somewhere on the corner of the map. “To get to the treasure.”

Sasori looked at where the X was and no doubt— “That’s your house.”

“N-No!”

“We could just go to your house and get the treasure.”

“No!” Yasha insisted, “You have to follow the rules. There is a trail here, see. And there’s a— there’s a riddle. So you can figure out—”

“The first stop is the library,” Sasori already grabbed the map, running off with more excitement than he wanted to show.

“How’d you know!”

“It’s obvious! You even drew the building.”

“It had to be realistic,” Yasha pouted as he ran after Sasori.

For the rest of the afternoon, they made Sunagakure their playground. The two children weaved through the library shelves until they found the book Yashamaru recommended for Sasori—- one about old puppet plays in Sunagakure. They snuck into the movie houses, like the soon-to-be shinobi that they were, and watched bits of a cartoon until they got bored. They bought ice cream and sat by the mural on Sunagakure’s walls detailing the way that their village conquered the other tribes in the desert. They made their way to the puppet corps training ground and Sasori pointed to where he would be sparing with other shinobi when he was older, where he would create puppets Sunagakure has never even imagined!

When the sun turned dim and the night rose higher into the sky, Sasori suggested making their way to the final treasure and skipping a few spots. It was late.

Yashamaru’s eyes darted to the clock at the central square. “We still haven’t gone to the greenhouse.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to see in the greenhouse,” Sasori kicked the dust, still wearing the smile that held more excitement than he wanted to show. “Come on, let’s go home. We can show Karura the book— it had that one story she liked.”

“Ah-uh— Actually, Karura— yeah, I have to get something for her in the greenhouse. For her— her birthday. Yeah,” Yashamaru fumbled but led Sasori to the direction of the greenhouse.

Sasori walked through the isles while Yashamaru spoke with the lady keeping watch over the plants. He was ahead of schedule on Karura’s gift so he didn’t feel the need to worry about that. In fact, he was thumbing the book they got from the library earlier. Eager to show it to——

He paused in his tracks and stepped back to let the family of three pass by. A young boy was in the middle, both hands stretched out to hold his parents’. _Can I get that one, Mom? Please! You promised!_

Sasori turned his head down and walked away. He made his way out of the greenhouse door and didn’t wait for Yashamaru until the other boy finally caught up with him.

“What’s wrong? I just got the—“

Sasori snapped his head towards Yasha. He had so many things he wanted to say, much of them with some venom injected in it. _Aren’t you done already? Why don’t we go back to your family already and get this treasure hunt over with?_

But as he continued brushing his thumb over the pages of the book Yashamaru found for him, he softened his gaze. “I think I’m just a bit tired. Can go to your place for the— or I can just head home—“

“No, no! We can go back now. But we have to stop by my place. Karura has a— she’d like to say hi.”

x.X.x

The walk to the last X in the map was a distracted one. Yashamaru was trying to strike a conversation while he was trying to bury the image of family of three beneath shavings and discarded chunks of wood. Bury it beneath plans on how to make the jewelry box complicated enough to take over his whole evening.

He was idly drafting up plans in his head, when Yashamaru led him up the stairs to the second floor home. The smell of rosewater and cardamom wafted through the door. Sasori looked up to see Karura leaning over a cake with a single candle over it.

“Wait! You’re not supposed to celebrate now!” Sasori rushed forward, going through the jewelry box plans in his head. He’s not even started the varnish yet. Or the paint, or the details, or, or—or “I’m not done with your present—“

Then Sasori’s eyes landed on the cake. White icing perfectly glazed on top, pink rose petals littered the sides, and on the center were crushed pistachios lined up to spell:

_Happy Birthday Sasor!_

From the corner of his eye, he could see Karura move a few of the pistachios to change the ! into an i. “Wait—“ and once she finished the switch, she cleared her throat and drummed on the table. “Pam-param-pampam—“

“Happy Birthday to you!” Came the voice of two people behind him. Auntie Kamala clapped to the melody and Yashamaru shook a can of rice-maracas, singing for him.

Sasori turned back to Karura who had already lit up the candle. “I made this for you,” she smiled. “It’s not lemon cakes, but it has some lemon in it.”

“Go on,” Auntie Kamala urged him forward. “Make a wish.”

Sasori turned his gaze from Auntie Kamala, to Yashamaru, and then to Karura who stood by the cake— and then smiled. He blew out the candle, but didn’t make a wish. Today, he didn’t think he needed one.

x.X.x

“I should go now,” Sasori slipped out of the dining room chair, his dinner and cake were heavy in his stomach. “Chiyo-baasama is expecting me to be home but—“ he took a deep breath, lips pressed together, and eyes threatening to overflow. Sasori bowed. “Thank you for this birthday.”

“Oh, before you go,” Kamala motioned for her daughter, “Karura, dear, could you pack the cake for Sasori to bring home and share. And I have something for you—“ she stood up on one of the chairs and reached up above the highest cabinet. Kamala came down with a simple box, covered by a glass lid. She showed it to Sasori and the two other kids scurried to have a peek at the gift.

“I need you to promise me to take good care of yourself if I give you this, alright.”

And when the box was in his hands, and he could read the handwritten labels on each section— Sasori’s eyes flew wide open. “Is this—“

“Well, they’re still poisonous plants, and seeds, and flowers. So, I want you to be careful with this, alright?”

Sasori nodded his head vigorously, not looking at anyone or anything but his new gift.

“Sasori,” Kamala put a hand over Sasori’s, “You promise me you’ll be careful. You ask Chiyo for help when you’re distilling—“

Sasori laid the box on the table and threw his arms over Kamala’s neck. With his head buried in her long red hair and the scent of rosewater and cardamom, Sasori mumbled a soft “Thank you,” and held the embrace even tighter. 

Then he felt arms thrown around him on one side, and then the other. Sasori was warm in his belly, and warm around his shoulders. And there was no more ache in the pit of his stomach. Not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasori's cake, in case anyone is interested, is a Persian Love Cake. It looks super pretty-- I wanted to make it if I had rosewater in my pantry. It's a moist cake with several different spices, depending on what culture the recipe came from. The term Love Cake fromes from it being a labor of love-- to grind the spices and get the flavor just right and not too overpowering. It felt appropriate. (Plus a headcanon that Sasori is fond of citrus flavors.)


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